


The Calm After the Storm

by AllieHink



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Sweet, You might have to go to a dentist from the cavities, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-01
Updated: 2012-08-01
Packaged: 2017-11-11 04:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/474481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllieHink/pseuds/AllieHink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John tries to calm Sherlock when he can't solve a case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Calm After the Storm

“Argh! What is it? What am I missing?”

John’s lips twitched into a small grin at the cry from the detective, but he didn’t look up from his computer. Early this morning, Sherlock had swept into the living room and flopped down onto the sofa, from where he had yet to move. Every once in a while, one of his hands would shoot out and seize his phone or laptop from the coffee table, then throw it back down with a disgusted sound when there was nothing to distract his attention. As the hours wore on, Sherlock had become more and more agitated, fidgeting uncontrollably where he lay prone. John said nothing and did not offer his help. He knew that if the detective needed him, he would ask. 

John was quite aware of how much this case was bothering Sherlock, and if he was honest, he was beginning to feel uneasiness stirring in his belly. If there was one thing John knew about his lover, it was that he could not leave any puzzle unsolved, and for some reason, this one had left him stumped. A stumped Sherlock meant an unhappy Sherlock, and an unhappy Sherlock meant a destructive Sherlock. John did not want to deal with more holes in the wall or any dangerous experiments that could do harm to himself, Sherlock, or both of them.

Two days ago, they had gotten a call from Lestrade about a case. He gave them the address, and the next thing he knew, John was sanding in a posh flat as Sherlock bent over a young woman whose eyes had been gouged out, leaving bloody holes in her otherwise pretty face. Sherlock had examined the corpse for the few minutes allotted to him before the forensics team swooped in and he slowly walked back to Lestrade and John where they stood by the door. It wasn’t until he was right next to them that John noticed the troubled look that made small creases form on his partner’s forehead. John had reached up and brushed his fingers along Sherlock’s coat-clad shoulder, but Sherlock had shaken him off and rattled off a surprisingly short list of deductions, omitting the probable suspect and motive, then brushed past them and disappeared. John had muttered a quick apology and followed, but by the time he made it to the street, Sherlock had vanished and left John to make his own way home. When asked why he had left so suddenly, Sherlock offered no answer, only grunted and closed his eyes, obviously off to his mind palace. John had frowned and shrugged and settled in for the evening. Sherlock hadn’t come to bed that night, or the next, but John was used to that, and he wasn’t overly worried. Sherlock often went days without sleep, and no amount of coaxing from John could get him to bed during a case.  
A few minutes after his outburst, Sherlock leapt from the sofa with a frustrated growl and began pacing across the sitting room, from windows to kitchen. He passed out of John’s line of sight with every rotation, but John could hear him huff and grumble as he stomped back. Sherlock passed by him once more, muttering “Why the _eyes_?”, and when he failed to return, John thought nothing of it. Silence spread through the flat like a cool shadow, and John basked in the peace that came with it.

Suddenly, a shout and a crash, followed by the tinkle of shattered glass broke the silence. John nearly fell out of his chair in his haste to get up, letting his computer slide to the rug, and rushed to the kitchen.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, are you okay?” he said, panic rising as there was no answer. He rounded the corner at a near run to find Sherlock standing with his back to John, hands tightly fisted in his dark curls. He appeared uninjured, and John released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holing in a sigh of relief. John turned to survey the damage. Glass littered the base of the wall opposite where Sherlock was standing, a bright liquid dripping down the wallpaper to join it. It appeared as though Sherlock had flung one of the beakers from the table across the room in frustration.

John cautiously approached the still form by the sink. Sherlock’s shoulders were heaving from his heavy panting and his hands had yet to release his hair. He didn’t turn around as John softly let his hands rest on Sherlock’s warm hips then gently press his body against the tense one in front of him. John felt as if he had pressed himself against a concrete wall. Every muscle in Sherlock’s body was tense, and John began to circle his thumbs under the hem of Sherlock’s sleep shirt, trying to relief some of the tension. He placed a short, close-mouthed kiss to the soft skin at the base of Sherlock’s neck, then, leaving his lips gently pressed against the bones there, murmured, “Calm down, Sherlock. What’s the matter, love?”

Sherlock stayed tense and silent for another minute before unexpectedly twisting in John’s grip and transferring his tight grip from his own hair to John’s short, blonde locks. He mashed his face against John’s in what could only barely be called a kiss. It was bruising and all teeth, and it froze John in shock for a moment, eyes blown wide. Sherlock was normally soft and sweet with his affection towards John, kissing him cautiously as if he might break his doctor. Once he regained his senses somewhat, John reluctantly pulled back, pushing firmly against his grip on Sherlock’s hips. They broke apart and John got his first good look at Sherlock’s face. He was still breathing heavily, his chest heaving, and his eyes had a hungry, needy look in their icy blue depths.

John moved his hands from Sherlock’s hips so that one curled into his hair and the other cupped the side of his face, thumb stroking one sharp cheekbone. “Shh, shh, it’s alright,” he whispered, “Tell me what’s wrong, love. Maybe I can help.” The destitute look in Sherlock’s eyes grew and John’s heart nearly broke at the sight. He nearly crumbled at the sight of this wonderful man in so much pain.

“Please, John,” he began, “I need–” He then cut himself off as he once again pressed his lips against John’s, much more gently, but still with an edge of desperation. John briefly considered pulling away again, but dismissed that idea rather quickly. He really could only put up so much resistance in the face of having a rather talented tongue shoved into his mouth and rather talented hands roughly running up and down his back, nails scraping through the thin cotton t-shirt. After several minutes of very heated snogging, they broke apart, gasping against each other’s lips.

John finally broke the silence by saying, “Let’s go to bed,” and tightly wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s thin waist.

“It’s four o’ clock in the afternoon, John. It’s much too early to go to sleep,” Sherlock replied in his best ‘why-are-you-suggesting-such-an-idiotic-idea’ voice, considering he had yet to catch his breath.

John pulled Sherlock impossibly closer and pushed a knee in between his legs as he growled, “Who said anything about sleep?” He softly nipped at Sherlock’s jaw before returning his hands to their original place on Sherlock’s hips and slowly pulling away to walk backwards towards their bedroom.

Sherlock’s pupils blew wide and he flashed a wicked (and rather grateful) grin and followed after him, already reaching to undo the buttons on John’s shirt.

Later (much, _much_ later, John would proudly admit), they lay side by side in a blissful haze upon their sweaty sheets, bodies glistening and slightly sticky. John rolled onto his side so he was facing Sherlock and let his gaze roam over the flawless plane of white flesh that was stretched out beside him.

“My God, you are so beautiful,” he said, reverently. Sherlock turned his head towards the sound of John’s voice and let his eyes open slightly so that they were barely more than slits. He gave a sleepy little smile that had John’s heart fluttering in his chest and left his stomach doing a happy little jig. “Sometimes,” John continued, “I wish I could lock you away so that no one could ever look at you again, and I could keep you all to myself.” He let a hand trail over Sherlock’s stomach and chest as he spoke, and he placed a trail of kisses across his collarbone and up his neck. Sherlock hummed happily and he arched his head back to give John better access.

Suddenly, he gasped and sat up, throwing John off of him. His eyes had snapped open completely and all trace of sleepiness had fled his body. John grunted in annoyance as his back hit the sheets, but he was thoroughly ignored. 

“Of course!” Sherlock cried. “John, you are my catalyst, my conveyor of light! You are quite brilliant, and don’t ever let me tell you any different!” With that, he leapt from the bed, reaching for his dressing gown where it hung from the back of the door. He had already flung the door open before John could stop him.

“Where are you going?” he said, frustration coloring his voice. Was it too much to ask for a little cuddle after the, frankly, quite incredible sex they had just had?

“To text Lestrade. I’ve solved the case!” Sherlock crowed in explanation before hurrying from the room.

John sighed and flopped back against the mattress. _Of course. The work always comes first, doesn’t it?_ he thought bitterly. He settled against the pillows and closed his eyes, deciding he would at least get a little rest while he was here. He was so absorbed in his thoughts, that when the bed dipped beneath him, he jumped nearly a foot off the mattress. His eyes flew open to observe a naked Sherlock (John spied the dressing gown in a blue heap on the floor) climbing back into bed with him, a bright smile gracing his features. John returned it with a surprised smile of his own, and allowed Sherlock to slide in next to him and rest his head against John’s shoulder. John carded his fingers through the inky curls that tickled his chin and heaved a happy sigh. Apparently he was going to get that cuddle after all.

After a few moments of contented silence, Sherlock turned his head to kiss John’s chest, then propped his chin up so he could look at the older man’s face. 

“You’re extraordinary. Did you know that? Quite perfect in every way. I don’t tell you nearly often enough,” he murmured quietly. “I love you so much,” he added, almost as an after thought. 

His words brought happy tears to John’s eyes and he quickly pulled Sherlock up for a kiss before they could spill. The kiss was soft and sweet, and all too soon, they were leaning back, smiling happily. John’s heart felt so full that he thought it might explode.

Sherlock replaced his head on John’s chest and wrapped his arms even tighter around his doctor’s waist. John did the same around his lover’s shoulders and placed a gentle kiss on the crown of his head.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think!


End file.
